Page 45 of Believing Bailey (Granton University 2)

“Yep.”

“Ah.” Snapping his fingers, he said, “I knew it.” Then he frowned slightly and tipped me a sideways glance. “But why were you running from me in the first place?”

“Because I was looking for…” Well, it didn’t matter who I’d been looking for now. “And you were drunk and annoying and I didn’t want to deal with you, so it seemed like an easier plan to just avoid you.”

His eyebrows arched, probably surprised by my blunt honestly, but he didn’t seem offended. Usually people were offended when I spoke my mind. It kind of warmed my soul that Beckett wasn’t. “Well, I guess that makes sense,” was all he said before, squinting and asking, “Who were you looking for again? I can’t remember.”

When he glanced at me, I refused to answer. He squinted even more before snapping his fingers. Then his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened, but no words came.

“Yeah…” I said slowly. “Him.”

The fucking bastard cowboy.

Beckett cringed. “You must know Melody then too, huh? Was she…? I mean, are you two friends?”

I snorted. “Hell, no. And no again, I had no clue who she was when she walked into that room. I didn’t even know her brother. I was just trying to catch up with him so I could meet him, because I thought he was…” I sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.”

Appearing regretful, Beckett bit his lip. “Sorry. I guess I ruined that for you, didn’t I, because that’d be an awkward introduction if you did meet him now. Hey, I’m the girl who outed your lying sister. You come here often?”

I huffed out an amused sound, because he’d been not-far from the mark. But then I sobered, remembering exactly how close to the mark he’d been. “Yeah,” I murmured. “Well, we did meet, and it was awkward.”

Beckett zipped his gaze my way only for some kind of realization to slimmer through his eyes. “That’s right. Max said you two got into it.” He winced. “It was a pretty bad confrontation, huh?”

“He spit on me.”

“Really? Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” I muttered. “I blame his sister. And him. Nasty family, those Fairfields.”

Beck bit his lip as if he wanted to smile and agree but figured it was probably a bad time to do so. “Well, thank you for defending me to him.”

I shrugged and slumped even more into my seat until my restraining belt was nearly around my neck. “It was stupid of me to be so eager to meet him,” I rolled my eyes, “just because I have some dumb cowboy fetish.”

We were both silent a minute before Beckett cleared his throat. “Would it make you feel better to know he’s from the city?”

Frowning, I turned to narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

Beck shrugged. “Chance. The cowboy. He’s a fake. I mean, he was. When he started at Granton, he was a total city slicker, never even been on a horse or seen a farm in real life.” He rolled his eyes. “But one day, I guess he just up and decided he wanted to ride bulls in the rodeo, so he changed his whole persona. To be fair, he’s tried really hard since then to be country, but…” With another lift of the shoulders, Beckett let me know it was all a guise.

I gaped at him unable to believe my ears. Unable to believe any of it. “But…But…” I’d chased him for a year, thinking he was totally genuine. “His accent,” I argued.

Huffing out an amused sniff, Beck grinned. “Yeah. That’s put on to get chicks.” When my mouth fell open, he glanced at me and grinned wider, “Guess it works, huh?”

“That fucking bastard,” I breathed, making Beck laugh aloud. I scowled at him. “Why is this so funny to you?”

His grin dropped. “Sorry, sorry,” he gushed. “It’s just…sorry.” He lifted one hand off the steering wheel to seek peace. “It gives me a personal thrill every time he loses an admirer. Damn fake gets more pussy than he should.”

Still scowling at him, I crossed my arms over my chest. I don’t know if I was so upset because I’d fallen for the “cowboy’s” fake front or because Beckett seemed so gleeful about my stupidity. “I should’ve known he wasn’t real,” I muttered, deriding myself even as I glared at the driver. “I mean; the guy was in a freaking fraternity. What true country boy would be in an icky, gross fraternity?”

Beck sent me an odd glance and his mouth opened as if he wanted to naysay me. But then he pressed his lips back together, probably remembering he was no longer in a fraternity himself and therefore didn’t need to loyally defend it or its members.

“But enough about that,” I spoke up. “When are you going to stop avoiding the subject of your family and tell me what’s going on there? We’re probably already halfway to their place; don’t you think it’d be wise for me to know what kind of mess I’m going to be walking into with you, so I don’t step into some sticky, taboo topic by accident. Because if you must know, I’m pretty awesome as shoving my foot right into my mouth pretty much every time I talk.”

“Yeah,” he admitted on a harassed sigh. “Shit, yeah, you should probably know what’s going on.”

But then he didn’t speak, and I lifted my eyebrows and both hands before saying, “Any time now. You have a captive audience.”

“Damn,” he hissed under his breath before whipping off his ball cap and scratching the back of his head, and then fitting it back onto his scalp. “My parents really aren’t in a situation where they can support an accused rapist because this summer my sixteen-year-old sister Brittany really was raped.” He glanced significantly at me before quietly adding, “And no one believed her. Well, except me and my parents. The guy—her attacker is a pretty big deal in our area. His dad is my dad’s boss, actually. Er, he was my dad’s boss. Dad kind of lost his job over the whole thing.”

---